Page 91 of Fragmented Illusions
“Just get it over with.”
I pull out my knife and flip it open. I step past Sol and bend down to press the tip of the blade on his carotid.
“No making a mess, Spencer.”
“Goddamnit, okay,” I growl and move the blade to his closed, twitching eyelid. Without hesitation, I put all of my force into it and shove it down. It pierces his eye and into his brain, killing him instantly.
I watch his parted lips for the last breath he exhales, and then his lungs deflate. I yank my knife out of him, wipe it on his shirt, then shove it in my pocket. I’ll be sure to clean it properly later.
Wordlessly, Solomon and I work together to gather his body and drag it through the woods to bury him six feet under, all the while refusing to think about the repercussions killing Trenton could bring us.
All that’s on my mind is our pretty girl.
Chapter Eighteen
Solomon
“Where is she?”
“It takes more than two fucking minutes to find out, Spencer. Quit hovering over me.”
“Seeing you actually show your feelings toward someone is very strange to me,” Spencer muses as he wears a path into the floor of our room. I glance up from my computer for a moment to glare at him, but instead, my eyes catch on his hair that is dripping water from his shower down his naked chest.
The sight of the droplets clinging to his tanned skin makes heat settle low in my groin, tightening my balls and drying my mouth. I swallow thickly and force my eyes back to the screen.
This is taking more time than I thought and it’s pissing me off. It’s now almost seven o’clock. When Spencer and I got back from the cabin, we showered immediately and threw our clothes in the wash with bleach, then they will be thrown away. We go through a lot of clothes this way, but it’s necessary.
Fallon hasn’t answered a single text all day. They keep saying delivered, but nothing more. We have even resorted to calling her. It rings and rings before clicking over to an automated voicemail.
Dread sits heavy in the pit of my stomach as I work my magic. Her phone ringing means it’s not off, so I can track it. It’s taking a bit of time, and normally I can be patient, but my nerves are eating at me after what we all did together last night.
She couldn’t have run off. That is simply not a possibility.
Something happened and I’m going to find her.
She doesn’t have a choice.
I stare blankly at my computer screen as the bar slowly climbs higher, seemingly taking hours though it hasn’t been long. Spencer is hovering over my shoulder, staring as well.
“What’s taking so long?”
“It’s almost loaded.”
Just then, it dings and pulls up a location. I grab my mouse and zoom in to get a closer look.
“What the fuck?” Spencer gawks. The name CPH Mental Institution stares back at us in bold, black letters with a red pinging dot hovering directly above it.
“That’s where Fallon’s phone is,” I say, though it sounds more like a question. What the fuck is she doing there?
I lean back in my chair and run my fingers along my temples as I try to figure out what the fuck is going on.
“Wait,” Spencer blurts out at the same time I say, “shit.”
“Her parents,” we say in unison and lock eyes.
“Son of a bitch,” Spencer growls out, and I couldn’t agree with him more.
Back when I first looked up information on Fallon, I found hospital records on her for a mental institution. They were hard enough to find and didn’t tell me as much as I wanted to know, but I was able to make inferences based off of it.
